Full Disclosure
by avocadomoon
Summary: "Yeah, but I'm the one who lived it," Chris says.


for dragons_and_angels. content warning: mention of multiple miscarriages

* * *

It doesn't strike Chris as unusual, to not hear from Wyatt for awhile. It's not that they're not close, but it's a reliable sort of closeness, the sort of intimacy you can put down for awhile and then pick back up again when you need it. Anyway, Wyatt's not great about talking on the phone, and he always goes MIA when he starts dating somebody new, or gets caught up in some hobby or side gig or whatever. When he got into krav maga, Chris didn't hear from him for almost three months. He nearly had a heart attack when they finally saw each other at Christmas, and his formerly skinny-assed, knobby-kneed brother rolled up looking like a MMA fighter.

Chris will send him shit, here and there, things that catch his eye that he knows Wyatt will like - a song, an SNL skit, news stories, whatever. It doesn't really bother him, not getting a reply, until he gets exposed to Zhenniao venom by one of Bianca's more vengeful cousins, and Wyatt doesn't even call. The entire three days, while they're waiting to see if Chris will start showing symptoms, Bianca keeps the wards down and the doors unlocked in case Wyatt turns up, frantic and worried, but - there's nothing. Not even a text.

"Now I'm worried," Bianca says. "Did you have a fight?"

"No," Chris says, baffled. He's scrolling back through their text log, trying to jog his own memory, but - there's nothing. They'd seen each other at P.J.'s birthday dinner, and went out for a drink afterward - Wyatt had been nervous about one of his charges, a girl with some kind of weird psychic power nobody had ever seen before. But they'd parted on good terms, and anyway, that was weeks ago. If he was mad at Chris for some reason, surely he'd have confronted him by now. "Nobody's said anything to you, have they?"

Bianca shakes her head. She's closest to Paige's youngest - stubborn, smart ass Henry, barely 18 but acts more like he's 40 - but all the cousins go to her first with their problems and secrets, usually. Chris was worried his family would exclude her - keep her on the edges, because of her past - but in practice, it turns out marrying an assassin is the quickest way to make your entire family think you're the coolest thing ever. Most of the kids think she walks on water, and the older ones - Mellie and P.J. and Kat - seem to rely on her to be the bad guy by comparison. Many, many times, they've gotten out of fights with their parents by bringing up something Bianca did once. Bianca, to Chris' amusement, seems more than happy to be their scapegoat. "Melinda told me he was dating somebody, but that was a while back. Some girl he met at P3?"

"The hedge witch," Chris says, shaking his head. "That didn't work out. Remember - she was seeing someone else?"

"Oh yeah." She frowns. "Maybe he's...do you think he found out, and he's upset we haven't told him?"

Chris takes her hand and squeezes it. She's not even showing yet, not really - but he can see the change in her face, and sense it in her magic. There's an aura of expectation around her now - like she's always on the cusp of something, waiting for something to happen. And that little heartbeat, twice as fast, beating beneath the rhythm of her own - he can sense that every time he closes his eyes, every time he touches her.

"I know he doesn't know yet," Chris says, "because if he did, he'd be sleeping on our couch every night, insisting on coming along to the doctor's appointments, making lists of names, lecturing you about your footwear…"

Bianca's giggling. "May the Goddess have mercy on whoever he ends up with," she says, shaking her head in mock sympathy. "He's going to mother hen her into an early grave."

Chris pulls her close, leaning his cheek against the crown of her head. Their house is one of the oldest in San Francisco - practically falling apart, too close to the shore to escape the tsunamis which come with increasing regularity now. But no house is too dangerous when you have magic, and it's worth it just for their bedroom - a view of the ocean, the sounds of the birds all day long. When he wakes up, some mornings, he swears he can taste the saltwater. "Just another month or so," he murmurs, his eyes on the sun outside, low in the sky and tinged with red. "And we'll tell them. But I just want to make sure - "

Bianca hushes him before he can finish the sentence. They don't talk about it out loud. "It's okay. You decide when. I don't mind."

Chris nods silently, feeling her relax, letting herself lean her full weight against him. It always takes her a minute or two to give herself permission. "It's gotta be something else. Something's going on - I haven't heard from Mellie in awhile, either."

"She's busy with school," Bianca protests. "Do you want me to call someone? They'd probably give me the gossip, if there is any."

"No," Chris says, frowning. "I'll ask my mom. She'll know."

"And interrupt their honeymoon?" Bianca nudges his arm. "I know you don't wanna orb into that hotel room."

"Is that this week?" Chris asks. Every year, Piper and Leo take a vacation to somewhere exotic and romantic and swear off magic completely for seven days. They used to keep track - fifth honeymoon, twelfth honeymoon, sixteenth-and-a-half honeymoon (it doesn't count as a full one if it gets interrupted by demons) but they'd lost track around year twenty or so. "Oh yeah - Costa Rica. I forgot."

"Talk to P.J.," Bianca urges. "She'll know. Wyatt would go to her before he'd go to Mellie."

"She's still mad at me about that thing," Chris grumbles.

"You deserve it," Bianca says.

"You're supposed to be on my side," Chris protests.

"Should have put that in the vows then," she replies, unapologetic.

* * *

P.J. is the eldest, after Chris and Wyatt, meaning she's the oldest girl, and therefore grew up to become kind of bossy. When she was little, she and Kat were practically inseparable - something that Chris was always thankful for, secretly, since Kat was such a quiet, shy little girl. P.J. certainly helped bring her out of her shell, but it had the unintended side effect of turning her into an extreme know-it-all.

She asserted her dominance over the weird sprawl of the Halliwell family by bossing everybody around, and then claiming innocence to the adults because of how cute she was. She and Chris used to get into fights a lot because of this habit - mostly because it was usually Chris that was getting into trouble, and P.J. was all too happy to rat him out for points with Mom and Aunt Piper, even when she'd been right there next to him at the time - and it wasn't until they were older that they got over themselves and became close. He wouldn't say that it's an easy relationship to maintain, but he does admire her in a lot of ways. Not that he'd ever admit that to her face.

"Hey asshole," P.J. greets, pulling off her boxing gloves. She didn't even flinch, when he orbed in - he's never, not once in his life, managed to surprise her. Probably because she tries to do the same thing with her pansy Cupid beaming power. "Come to apologize?"

Chris wrinkles his nose at his surroundings. He rarely knows where he'll end up, when he orbs to a person instead of a place, and every time, he manages to catch P.J. at her sweaty, loud gym. It's like she practically sleeps here. "Apologize for what?"

P.J. looks unimpressed. "Oh, your head's still up your ass then. Good to know." She turns her back on him and walks over to a bench, picking up a water bottle.

"Oh come on," Chris says, rolling his eyes. "You can't seriously still be mad, it's been like a month."

"You tried to vanquish my girlfriend," P.J. says, whirling around, a scowl already on her face. "Pretty sure I'm entitled to hold a grudge for as long as I want."

"You're dating a demon," Chris says unapologetically, "and you didn't warn me. What was I supposed to think, when she shimmers straight into the living room? She's got green skin for God's sake."

"Don't be a bigot! And you're one to talk, about dating the other side!"

"I wouldn't have attacked her if you had just told me," Chris says irritably. He's beyond over arguing about this. "And I didn't hurt her. Also I apologized."

"I didn't really feel like you meant it," P.J. grumbles, but her scowl subsides, just a little. "She says hi, by the way."

"Tell her hi back." Despite his gut reaction, Chris does like Tez. She's relatively harmless, as demons go, and she was born in like, the 1500s so she gets bonus points just for answering all his nerdy history questions. Jury's out on how long it will last (P.J. hasn't exactly shown a tendency toward commitment), but after the initial murder attempt - he got along with her great. "You got some time? I'll buy you lunch."

P.J. grimaces apologetically. "I have a client appointment in twenty minutes. But I've got water and protein bars in the back office?"

"Deal," Chris says.

P.J.'s gym runs classes for pretty much everything under the sun, from kickboxing to tai chi to yoga, but what she's really known for is basic self-defense for magicals, which is a severely neglected area of training, in Chris' opinion. Her gym is in Los Angeles, but most of the employees and clients are magical, which means there are always people there from all over the world. Just walking down the corridor, he overhears at least three different languages - one which he's never even heard before.

"That was kiowa," P.J. says, holding her rickety office door open for him. "Mortals think it's rare, but you know that big clan of covens in Oklahoma? They all speak it. Teach it to their kids, too." She shuts the door behind them, and the noise from the hallway instantly cuts off - a clever silencing spell. "I could introduce you to Anita if you want, they're always willing to teach people how to speak it."

"Maybe one of these days," Chris says vaguely. He's about to have a lot less time on his hands - not that he can tell P.J. that, yet. "How's business, anyway? Seems pretty busy around here."

"It's good," P.J. says brightly. "We were worried for a few months there - you know, when we kept losing all those clients? Turns out that bitchy teacher at Magic School was talking shit about us. Did you ever take anything from Madame Pelletier?"

"That snooty ghost who taught scrying and conjuring?" Chris asks. He shakes his head. "No."

"Snooty's a bit of an understatement," P.J. grumbles. "She was spreading rumors about the gym - or me, I should say - Uncle Leo and Aunt Paige had a talk with her, though, and we haven't had any problems since."

Chris smirks. "I told you all those detentions would come back to bite you in the ass."

"Again," P.J. says, flopping down into her desk chair, "you're one to talk. I think they still have your school picture up in the headmaster's office."

A fitting legacy. Chris is okay with it. "I just couldn't run away as fast as you could."

P.J. grins. "Now that, I won't argue with." She offers him a bottle of water. "I wasn't lying about the protein bars, either. You hungry?"

Chris takes the water with a fond smile. "Nah, I was just going to bribe you with fancy vegan food."

"Ooh, for what?" P.J. leans in, smiling conspiratorially. "Are you in the dog house with Bianca again?"

"I'm never in the dog house!" P.J. snorts at him. "Not anymore, anyway. Well - it's rare."

"Whatever you say," P.J. says dryly. "So - what's up?"

"Have you heard from Wyatt lately?"

P.J. shrugs. "He was at Mom's house the other day, when I went over for dinner. He and Uncle Leo both were there."

"When was that?"

"Last weekend. Chris, what's going on?" P.J. frowns. "Is it an evil thing, or a brother thing?"

"I'm not sure yet." Chris rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "He's been ignoring me - months now. I didn't really catch on until recently. I think he might be mad at me for something, but I have no clue what for. Either that - or something's wrong."

"Well," P.J. teases, "I can say from experience that you are exceptionally skilled at pissing people off, cousin of mine."

"Shut up," Chris says, grinning to himself. "Seriously - he hasn't said anything?"

"No. He seemed normal at dinner." P.J. looks concerned. "Do you want me to ask him? Or - maybe Mom knows. She would've sensed it if there was something wrong."

"No," Chris says hastily. Once Phoebe gets involved - it's all over. There'll be family meetings, and pushy parents, and Chris will never hear the end of it. "No, I'll just talk to him. I was just wondering if I was missing something totally obvious."

"I think this time, for once," P.J. says, quirking a smile at him, "you're in the clear. Let me know if you need something. Okay?"

"Sure," Chris says, reaching out with his water bottle and tapping her on the arm. Affectionate, yet distant - that's the best way to approach P.J. "How's Mellie doing?"

"Great! She's really enjoying her class," P.J. says. "Don't tell her, but I'm paying her double what I usually pay instructors. Mostly so she can afford to eat something other than that gross cafeteria food on her campus, but also because she's so damn popular, enrollment for the yoga program has tripled."

"I'm not surprised," Chris says fondly. "She's gonna be a teacher. I'll bet you anything. She told me last month that she was really enjoying that early education class."

"My money's still on therapist, but whatever," P.J. says, grinning. "We both thought Wyatt would go to med school, and look how wrong we were there."

Wyatt, despite kicking ass all through college, defied everyone's expectations by turning his back on the mortal world completely, becoming a Whitelighter full time. The rumor Up There is that the other Elders are grooming him to take over one day - once Leo finally retires - but they're still putting him through the regular paces, so nobody gets bitter about nepotism. Chris isn't surprised - there's nobody that embodies the Whitelighters moreso than Wyatt - self-righteousness and annoying earnestness and all.

"Kat got another promotion, too," P.J. says. "She's got her own office now - she's pretty excited. And, uh, let's see, what else. Henry's dating Stella again - "

"I heard about that," Chris says with a groan. "Bianca's not exactly happy."

"I can't imagine she would be," P.J. says with a grin. "And Parker aced all her finals - not that we were worried."

"Has she made any decisions about college?"

"She hasn't said anything, but I'm pretty sure she's set on NYU," P.J. says. "She just knows Mom's not gonna like her being so far away, so she's trying to delay the inevitable reaction."

"It's not like the distance really means anything when she can beam home any time she wants," Chris argues.

"Yeah, but Mom can't beam. Or orb, or blink, or whatever else. I think that'll be the sticking point."

Chris sighs. "I mean, it's not like she wouldn't still figure it out, but I see your point." Phoebe is, to nobody's surprise, an extremely overprotective parent. His own mother's obsessiveness seemed mild by comparison to the lengths his Aunt Phoebe would go to, once P.J. and Parker got old enough to start going to sleepovers and making friends and, well - leaving the house at all. "Any other news?"

"Um, not since my birthday. We really should start a newsletter," P.J. jokes. "Or at least a chain email list."

"Right."

"Hey - maybe that's why he's avoiding you," P.J. says. "You don't think he got back together with Bianca's cousin, do you?"

"Nadine? No way," Chris says, shaking his head. Nadine is, technically, Bianca's step-niece, not her cousin. But Phoenix families are even bigger and more confusing than the Halliwells, so for simplicity's sake, they usually call anyone close in age "cousin." Plus, most of them are still evil, so there's that. "She's married now. And pretty happy, as far as we can tell."

"Well," P.J. says, shrugging, "there's gotta be a reason. Wyatt wouldn't just ghost you out of nowhere."

"Well I should hope not," Chris says archly. "He still owes me fifty bucks for Mom and Dad's anniversary gift."

* * *

Chris is determined not to get his parents or the aunts involved, so he doesn't text Mellie - she tells their mom everything. But Kat doesn't know anything either, and Henry just shrugs, when Bianca grills him at dinner the following night.

"Maybe he's mad at you for trying to vanquish Tez," he suggests.

"It was weeks ago," Chris insists, over Bianca's snort of laughter. "Really not helpful, Henry."

Henry's smirking down at his plate, unrepentant. "He's your brother - how should I know what he's upset about?" And, well - there's a good point.

When he really starts to get worried is when he finds out that Wyatt's done an anti-scrying and orbing spell, which is a really unpleasant surprise. It's a nasty drop in his stomach, actually - trying to orb to Wyatt and getting bounced back to his own house. He tries three times before he finally realizes - thinking it must be a mistake. Something wrong with his powers, anything - it seems incomprehensible to Chris, that Wyatt would go that far. He knows it must a localized spell, since the rest of their family would lose their shit if he dropped off the radar completely - and by now, most of the cousins all know that there's something going on, so they would have mentioned it. Chris paces the length of his living room as he dials Wyatt's cell, listening to it ring through to the voicemail over and over. On his fourth try, he finally leaves a message - because there's no wayWyatt's just busy. He's glued to his goddamn phone - he even keeps it in bed with him at night.

"Wyatt," Chris barks, his worry solidifying into anger, "what the fuck, dude? Call me back. I need to talk to you." He hangs up decisively, and instantly regrets it - so he paces for a few more minutes, and when Wyatt doesn't text or call in reply, he dials again.

"Okay," he says, trying for patience, "so - you're mad at me for something - fine. But at least let me know you're alright. Blocking my orbs? If you're in trouble, Wy, you don't have to come to me, but let me know you went to somebody," Chris pleads, the anger settling down into an earnest, anxious worry. "Listen, whatever it is - you can't just - just go silent like this. You know I always think the worst," he tries to joke, but it falls flat, even to his own ears. "Just. Text me or something. Anything. Please?"

He hangs up again, cursing at himself. He must have sounded like an absolute freak.

It's almost midnight, by the time he finally gets a reply. He's taking out his frustrations on Bianca's punching bag in the basement, unable to sleep, when his phone chimes. Chris almost trips over his own feet, in his haste to look at the message.

I'm fine, and I'm not mad at you. Just need some time. Love you, is all Wyatt's written. Chris stares at it in incredulous silence, unable to make sense of it.

what the fuck does that mean, he texts back, not waiting to second guess himself. time for what?

Wyatt doesn't reply. Chris stays up until almost two o'clock in the morning, waiting, but there's nothing. He almost doesn't believe it.

"I think," Bianca tells him the next morning, frowning down at the texts in concern, "that it might be time for you to talk to your parents."

"They would have told me," Chris insists, "if they knew something like this was going on. They would have come to me first."

"Then they obviously don't know, which means you need to tell them," Bianca says gently, sliding her arms around Chris' shoulders. He leans his forehead against her collarbone, letting her take the weight. "This isn't like him. And he's clearly hiding it from the kids, so it's gotta be serious."

"P.J. would kill you if she heard you referring to her as a 'kid,'" Chris says wryly, not lifting his head out of Bianca's embrace.

"She'll always be that snot-nosed twelve-year-old to me," Bianca says fondly. "They're all just kids still, in my head, I don't care how grown up they are."

Chris kisses her neck, squeezing her waist gently. "If I tell my parents, and Wyatt doesn't want me to, then he'll definitely be mad at me," he says.

"Let him. You have a gut feeling that's something wrong - trust it. It's never steered you wrong before."

"I guess." But Chris is thinking, specifically, of Wyatt's stubbornness. If he's gotten into something over his head - then going straight to their parents, getting them involved (and - realistically speaking, getting the aunts involved, too) then it might drive him into recklessness. Wyatt was never a rebellious kid - always got the grades, followed the rules, set the example - but when he did act out, he did it big time. And whenever Chris would try to reach out, give him advice, help give him perspective - Wyatt would lash out, double down on whatever stupid thing he was doing, just out of pride. It's the only reason he dated Nadine in the first place, for example. And Chris has his suspicions about Wyatt's decision not to pursue med school, too. "He's never done this before. When we were kids, I was always bugging him to leave me alone."

Bianca squeezes him a little tighter, silent in her sympathy. Chris closes his eyes, stretches out his senses, and listens for that third heartbeat. It's still there - it's always there, when he checks, reassuringly fast. Maybe one of these days he'll calm down enough to stop checking.

* * *

Piper and Leo have been back from Costa Rica for a few days now, which makes Chris feel a little less guilty about intruding. Not that they'd call it intruding, but ever since Chris got married, there's a little niggle of doubt - as if he should be staying out of their lives, letting them enjoy their years together now that their kids are all grown. Of course his mother would disagree - but Chris wasn't an easy kid to raise. Especially compared to Mellie and Wyatt, who always did everything right - school, friends, work, family. Magic was the one area that Chris had the advantage - but of course that wasn't exactly reassuring to his parents. It's always been difficult not to feel like a burden, growing up in a house with two perfect examples of everything, excelling only at the things that scared everybody else.

"Chris," Piper greets. She looks as beautiful as always - tanner than usual, her hair a bit shorter than it'd been when Chris saw her last. She smells like the kitchen, when she hugs him - rosemary and something else - some kind of meat, chicken or steak. She always cooks, when she's in a good mood. "You're just in time for dinner. Did you come for your presents?" She grins. "I went a little overboard. But we did a lot of shopping, and I've got birthday and Christmas gifts for the next two years, at least."

"You didn't have to get me anything, Mom," Chris says, smiling gently. "I'm glad you had fun, though."

"Whatever, I wanted to. Here," Piper says, tugging him over to the couch. "At least let me show you what I got for Bianca. But you can't tell her - I'm saving it for her birthday."

Chris indulges her, ooh-ing and aww-ing appropriately at the dress that Piper shows him - not really Bianca's normal taste, but beautiful enough that she'll probably wear it, if for no other reason than to make Piper happy. "She'll love it," he assures her. "Green's her favorite color."

"I thought so," Piper says in satisfaction, carefully folding it back into its box. "Your father wanted to buy her a purple one, but I knew green was better."

Chris shakes his head, just at the mental picture of Leo clothes shopping. He's probably better than your average husband, but still - it's an amusing thought. "Where is Dad? He around?"

"Working," Piper says nonchalantly. "Wyatt needed help with something - I didn't catch the details."

Chris physically startles, drawing Piper's eyes. "He's with Wyatt?"

"Yes. What's wrong?" Piper asks sharply, eyes narrowing. "Did something happen while we were gone?"

"No, it's been quiet, everyone's fine," Chris rushes to reassure her. "It's just - Wyatt and I, we had...a fight? Kind of? I was hoping to talk to you and Dad about it."

"He didn't say anything to us," Piper says, frowning. "Well, I'm here. Let's talk."

Chris lays it out, downplaying his own anxiety as much as possible. Piper's face grows more and more concerned with each word, the worry lines around her mouth and forehead returning with a vengeance. Chris hates himself, just a little, for being the reason they've reappeared.

"Well, she's right, that's not like him," Piper concludes. "Why hasn't he said anything to anyone else? That's weird."

"Right?" Chris says, incredulous again. "I mean, if I pissed him off, that's one thing. But he's acting like…"

"It's something more," Piper says, finishing his sentence. "Okay, well, you're definitely staying for dinner now. Wyatt and Leo will be back soon - now's your best chance to corner him. Maybe it's nothing," she says, optimistically. "He's mad at you for something stupid, maybe, and he doesn't want to make a big deal out of it?"

"Maybe," Chris says skeptically. It's his best play though - she's right. The only way to corner him is to take him off guard. "What are you making?"

"Chicken caprese," Piper says. "You wanna do the salad?"

"You know it," Chris says.

The kitchen has always been the great equalizer at the Halliwell Manor - even in the worst, tensest times of Chris' childhood, they were always able to eat together, at least. For as long as Chris can remember, he's been the only one allowed to help Mom cook - not even Mellie was extended that privilege. Mostly because Mellie burns anything she touches, but - still.

Chris chops up tomatoes and boils pasta while Piper carefully attends to her chicken thighs, chatting easily about her vacation, keeping the conversation light and easy. They're laughing together, at a ridiculous story involving Leo and a misadventure with a surfing lesson - when they hear the sound of orbs out in the living room, and the low conversation of Leo and Wyatt. Chris falls silent almost at once.

Piper squeezes his arm, but doesn't say anything - a silent, fortifying 'good luck.' To his embarrassment, Chris finds himself a little choked up at the gesture. He hadn't quite known, until he'd talked to his mother about it, how upset he really was about this.

He pushes it off his face, at Leo's entrance. Wyatt is right behind him, and as Leo's face lights up, Wyatt's drops. Chris frowns at him, and his gaze darts away. "Chris! Hey!'

He accepts his dad's hug gratefully. "Hey, Dad."

"Didn't know you'd be here - good to see you, son," Leo says, squeezing him tight. He's smiling broadly when he pulls away - clearly, Wyatt hasn't filled him in. "Did your mom show you the dress for Bianca? I picked it out," he says proudly.

"Oh you did, huh," Chris says, as Piper snorts loudly.

"Well, she contributed," Leo says, still grinning. "But really the final decision was mine. You're staying for dinner?"

"I called him," Piper cuts in, looking over at Wyatt with a hard gaze. "I would have asked your sister too, but she's busy with that big term paper. But it's been so long since we had the two of you over at the same time, I thought it'd be nice."

Wyatt's still standing in the doorway, tensely, like he's about to bolt. Picking up on the tension, Leo looks between them and frowns. "What's going on - are you two fighting?"

"No," Wyatt says quickly. He still hasn't looked at Chris once. "No, I just - I didn't know you'd be here, Chris."

"My face is up this way," Chris says dryly. Wyatt blushes a little, tearing his eyes off the floor. He still doesn't make eye contact, though. "No, we're not fighting, Dad. Wy? Are we fighting?"

"No," Wyatt says woodenly.

"Good," Chris says, his own anger returning. "Great. Glad everything's fine."

"Great," Wyatt bites back.

Leo and Piper exchange a loaded glance. "Wyatt," Piper says, cutting through the tension sharply. "Set the table. Chris - drinks."

"Mom, I don't know that I can stay to eat," Wyatt says quickly, firming his shoulders and avoiding Chris' sharp glare. "I've got a lot of work to do, and I still need to check up on my charge in South Carolina - "

"Wyatt Matthew," Piper says sharply, glancing again over at Leo, who is watching the tableau silently, his arms crossed. "I asked you to set the table. If you want a different job, fine, but ask nicely, please."

Wyatt instantly deflates. "Fine," he mumbles, shuffling over to the cupboards where the plates are kept. Piper tilts her chin up in victory.

Thank you, Chris mouths at her silently, behind Wyatt's back. Piper shoots him a grin, and without dropping it, barks, "drinks, Chris."

"Okay, okay," Chris says.

* * *

Dinner's pretty shitty. Wyatt keeps his face buried in his plate the entire time, resisting every attempt at conversation. Piper is stone-faced by the end, cutting her food with sharp, vicious movements, and Leo is visibly keeping his mouth shut, laying a gentle hand on Piper's elbow, every time her knife scrapes too loudly against her plate.

"Well, this was fun," Chris says, forcing a smile. "The food was amazing, Mom, as always."

"You made the salad," Piper says stiffly. Her face softens, at Chris' smile. "Thank you, honey."

"I should get going," Wyatt says quickly. "I have to be up early - "

"Oh no, you don't," Leo snaps, extending his arm sharply. Wyatt falls back into his chair abruptly, his face going slack with surprise. "Enough is enough."

"Did you just - " Wyatt sputters. He closes his eyes and concentrates for a second, but nothing happens. His eyes fly open again, his expression twisted with outrage. "Did you block my orbs?"

"Doesn't feel great, does it?" Chris snarks. Wyatt shoots him a dirty look - the first eye contact they've made all night.

"Whatever's going on," Leo says sternly, "talk it out before you leave. Yell at each other if you have to - but work it out." He grabs a few plates, rising from the table, his face still stern. "I'll let you go when you finish."

"You can't just do that!" Wyatt says angrily. "What if one of my charges calls for me? You can't just clip my wings like I'm some kind of - like I'm under arrest!"

"Well, that's one of the perks of being an Elder, kiddo," Leo says unrepentantly, "you can do pretty much whatever the hell you want."

Chris winces. "Not as cool as you think that sounds, Dad."

Leo just rolls his eyes, ignoring him. "I'll take care of any life or death emergencies that might happen in the next twenty minutes," he says, long-suffering. "Come on, hon. I'll help you with the dishes."

"I'd be happy to, Leo," Piper says, grabbing her own plate.

Wyatt sputters for words again as they both rise and leave the table, smug smiles on both faces. Chris tries to keep it off his own face as well, but not very successfully, judging by Wyatt's angry scoff.

"You planned this, didn't you," he says.

"Not deliberately, but I gotta say it worked out pretty well," Chris says. He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow at his brother. "Ready to talk?"

Wyatt doesn't reply. Shoving himself back from the table, almost violently, he stalks over to the door that leads to the living room, but Chris waves it shut with his telekinesis, slamming it in his face. "What the hell, Chris?" He whirls around. "You wanna fight? I don't think you wanna do that with me right now."

"Well, sure, Wyatt," Chris says, rising to his own feet as well. "Let's beat each other up if it makes you feel better, and then maybe you can finally tell me what the fuck your problem is!"

"I don't have a problem," Wyatt bites out.

"Yeah," Chris drawls, "clearly you're very calm and composed right now. Not angry at all."

Wyatt blows out a furious breath and changes direction, moving over to one of the windows that looks out over the garden. Behind the kitchen door, it's suspiciously silent - their parents probably listening closely on the other side. Chris almost laughs, at the mental image of Leo and Piper scrunched up on the other side of the door, their ears pressed to the wood.

"Look," Chris says, taking a calming breath of his own, "obviously I've done something. You're angry - fine. But you're scaring me, Wyatt - this isn't like you. If something's wrong - if something happened - you don't have to talk to me, but you're not talking to anybody, and clearly there's a problem - "

"I told you I needed time," Wyatt says tightly, not turning around. "You can't even respect that, Chris - you're so pushy."

Chris bites back an angry reply. "Or maybe you've just decided," he says, "out of the blue, for no obvious reason, that you hate me. As one does."

Wyatt turns around, looking exasperated. "Of course I don't hate you."

"Then what the fuck?!" Chris asks, flinging out his hands. "Why are you so mad at me, then?"

"I'm not mad!" Wyatt exclaims, and all at once, every single light bulb in the room explodes. Chris and Wyatt both duck, covering their faces, and the room plunges into immediate darkness.

His heart pounding, Chris lifts his head up. He can see Wyatt dimly, from the light shining from beneath the kitchen door, staring up at the lamp on the ceiling in dumb shock.

"Yeah," Chris says dryly, watching Wyatt's shoulders deflate. "Like I said. Calm and composed."

"Are you two alright?" Piper calls, muffled on the other side of the door. "I heard exploding noises!"

"Accidental magic, Mom, it's fine," Chris calls back. He can see Wyatt moving heavily back over to the dining table chair, collapsing into it and covering his face with one hand. "It's okay - just give us some more time, alright?"

"Okay," Piper calls back, sounding deeply skeptical. "Don't break any of my china!"

Chris waits until their shadows, visible in the light coming from beneath the door, move away. Then, with a muttered spell, he lights the candles on the centerpiece, casting the room in gentle, flickering light.

Wyatt is still sitting with his face covered, his shoulders heaving a little. Tentatively, Chris reaches out and touches his arm, his stomach dropping when Wyatt flinches violently. "Jesus, Wy - "

"I didn't mean it," Wyatt says, pulling his hands away. His eyes are rimmed with red, and Chris instantly sits down in the chair next to him, firming his grip on Wyatt's arm. "I'm sorry."

"Wyatt," Chris says, swallowing thickly, "now you're really scaring me. What's wrong?"

"You didn't tell me," Wyatt mumbles. He's shaking his head. "You didn't tell me it was so bad."

"What was so bad?" Chris exclaims. "You're not making any sense."

"You didn't tell me I killed her," Wyatt says in frustration, pulling his arm out of Chris' grip. "You told me I was evil, but you didn't tell me that I killed Bianca."

Chris swears, in that moment, that he can physically feel the blood draining from his face. "What?" he whispers.

"I can't get it out of my head," Wyatt says, his voice choked and quiet. "I can't stop seeing it - the blood, and oh God, the look on your face - "

"Wyatt," Chris says urgently, "how the fuck do you know about that? What did you see, what happened to you?"

"Jenna," Wyatt mumbles, covering his face with his hands again. "My new charge. Her - her power, it's - it's like nothing I've seen before, she sees things from other worlds, other dimensions - "

Chris feels like he might be sick. "So she showed you that?"

"She didn't mean to," Wyatt says miserably. "She can't control it, it comes when she touches people - and I asked her to try it, I was trying to help her - "

Chris grabs Wyatt again, this time on his shoulder, dragging him roughly over, across the gap between their chairs. Wyatt shudders, his body going limp, leaning hard against Chris' shoulder in a clumsy, half-clasped hug.

"I didn't tell you because it wasn't you," Chris says fiercely, feeling his brother trembling violently, shaking apart beneath his hands. "It doesn't matter, Wyatt. That was a different person, in a different world. It wasn't you."

Wyatt just shakes his head silently, gripping the tablecloth with his free hand. The pattern on the cloth distorts beneath his fist.

"Say it. Tell me you believe me," Chris pleads. His throat is thick with unshed tears. "Wyatt, come on. Say it."

"I can't," Wyatt chokes out. "I can't." He rips away roughly, rubbing his face roughly. "Don't touch me," he says roughly. "Just - don't - "

"I'm getting Mom," Chris says. Wyatt shakes his head, reaching out and yanking Chris back down as he starts to stand.

"Don't you fucking dare," he hisses. "I don't want them to know. Why do you think I was trying not to make a thing out of it? I told you I just needed time," he hisses, back to angry again. Chris glares at the side of his head.

"You didn't think this was my business too? Bianca's?" Chris asks angrily. He darts a look over at the door. "They're probably listening anyway - "

"Why don't I tell them exactly what I saw, then?" Wyatt asks abruptly. His jaw is set, his eyes still rimmed with angry tears. Chris feels his skin growing cold, at this look on his brother's face - a look he's never seen before. In any timeline. "Or how about I tell you something you don't know - how I convinced her to go back to get you. How long I tortured her, and what exactly it is that I did. How many demons I invited to watch, how I televised it, to set an example for the rest of your friends - "

"Stop it," Chris says on a gasp, standing up so violently his chair tips backwards, crashing back into the wall. "Shut the fuck up."

"Tell me again it wasn't me," Wyatt demands. "Tell me again, little brother."

Chris reacts without thinking, a long-dormant instinct flaring to life at the phrase. With a wave of his hand, Wyatt goes flying backward, propelled into the wall by the force of his telekinesis. The candles flicker violently, and Chris stumbles backward in horror, looking down at his own hand. It's shaking.

"Wyatt?! Chris?" Their mother's voice announces her presence a split second before she bursts through the door, blanching at the sight of Wyatt, slowly climbing to his feet. Leo's not far behind her. Chris stares at all three of them in silent shock - there's a dent in the wooden panelling, where his body had hit it. He feels sick again. "What the hell is going on here?" Piper demands, helping Wyatt to his feet. "Chris, what on earth - "

"It's my fault," Wyatt says instantly, shaking off their mother's grip. "I goaded him, I deserved it. It's not his fault."

"That's not true," Chris says blankly. His face feels numb. "That's not - I shouldn't have - "

"Chris?" Leo says, stepping gingerly over the overturned chair. He reaches out a gentle hand, his face creased in concern. "Chris, look at me. Are you okay?"

"He looks like he's about to pass out," he hears Piper say, faintly.

"I'm fine," Chris says, clearing his throat. He jerks back, before Leo can touch him. "I'm fine."

"It's my fault," Wyatt says again, more stridently. "Not his. I made him."

Chris looks around at the ugly display, coming back to himself with agonizing clarity. Wyatt's forehead is bleeding, and the remaining dishes on the table have fallen to the floor - sauce and salad dressing and the leftovers of their coffee, soaking the side of the tablecloth. Leo is watching him warily, his hands outstretched, like he's trying to calm him down, and Piper is frozen, clutching Wyatt's arm. Her face is snowy white.

"Oh, God," Chris says to himself. He sees Leo twitch, his expression creasing in distress.

"I'm sorry, Chris," Wyatt says, sounding agonized. "I'm so sorry - I shouldn't have said that, I just - I don't know why I'm so angry - "

"I have to go," Chris says blankly. "Dad, please take the block off."

"Let's just calm down for a second," Leo says placatingly, still holding up his hands, like Chris has a gun on him or something. "Let's just...sit down for a second, take a breath, and - "

"Leo," Chris says, strained, and Leo falls abruptly silent. "Take the fucking block off. Now."

A terrible silence, and then Piper clears her throat. "Leo, do it."

Wyatt's face crumples, and he turns away, brushing past Piper into the kitchen. Chris barely notices, concentrating instead on the release of pressure, the sudden relief of his power flooding back -

"We love you, Chris," Piper says quickly, almost yelling the words over the sounds of his orbs. "Please come back when you're ready - "

The rest of her sentence is lost to the sky. As is, to his dim relief, his shaking hands. He doesn't feel like having a body right now, anyway.

* * *

Chris has remembered the other timeline for as long as he can remember - he thinks, most likely, that he's always remembered it, even when he was too young to process it. He knows now that he'd died almost at the same moment that he was being born - surely that's a record - which is the closest thing to a working theory that he's got: that somehow, he merged. Whatever souls are made of - maybe there can only be one. Maybe that's why time travel is so dangerous, why witches go mad trying to change their own pasts. You can't be in two places at once for very long before it starts to splinter the root of who you are.

And - well, of course he told Wyatt. Told him just enough to keep him humble, to temper that natural arrogance that comes to him so easily. Just enough to make him sympathetic - but not too much, not the things that would truly scare him. Chris thought, when he was younger, that he was helping. Continuing to do the job that he's been doing for so long - watching over his brother, and keeping him in line, too. But of course it wasn't just about that. Of course it was also for his own sake - his own arrogance, deciding how much Wyatt deserved to know. They're brothers, after all. More similar than they are different.

But it wasn't just a curse. It's kept him honest, if nothing else. It helps him appreciate things more - the little things. Having hot food every night, warm clothes. It's how he found Bianca. It's helped him love his family, too, even when it was hard - especially when it was hard. None of his cousins lived, in that original timeline - Chris had never known them. Every moment is precious - a sister who never before existed, cousins who died before they were old enough for Chris to remember them. Two uncles, two aunts. Happy marriages, a full and thriving family of weird, beautiful people. Every day Chris wakes up and thinks to himself, in incredulous wonder, I really did it. I really pulled that shit off. And it never stops feeling amazing.

A life like that, Chris has found, has a way of making you forget. It wasn't something he'd known before - the fullness of being loved, and loving in return. He'd had snatches of it, here and there - Bianca, of course, who has loved him in every universe. His friends and comrades, other Whitelighters and witches who helped him along the way. The sisters, to a certain extent, back in 2003. But never had he realized how much he was missing. And now that he's got it, he knows how special it is. How lucky he is.

Most days, he doesn't think about it. Remembering it now is like thinking of an old, terrible movie he once watched - dim, forgettable, muted by time and distance and years and years of comfort. But every once in awhile - from time to time, something reminds him. A demon he recognizes, a smell or taste that triggers a painful memory. Until today, those moments have been fleeting, and they've never involved Wyatt. Not once in his entire life has Chris confused his brother here with his brother there - and now that it's finally happened, he wishes he could scrub every last memory out of his brain, so that he'll never have to think about it, ever again.

Should he have told Wyatt at all? Probably not. Maybe not. How was he supposed to know? He was twelve, when Chris first spilled the secret: sitting up late in the attic, looking through the Book for spells to prank P.J. with. They'd come across a spot of dried blood, on the edge of a page, and Wyatt reached out and touched it with his finger, and Chris said, without even meaning to, "that's from when I died." He still remembers the look on Wyatt's face - scarier than facing down any demon or warlock.

Like he said, he hadn't been an easy child to raise. Not a comforting presence, by any stretch of the definition. Thank God they never gave up on him. Chris isn't sure he wouldn't have, if it'd been him.

* * *

His cell phone is exploding with messages, when he touches down on top of the Golden Gate Bridge. He doesn't even look at his texts - just calls Bianca, who picks up on the very first ring. They must have called her.

"Are you okay?" she demands. "Where are you?"

"I'm," Chris says, looking down at the distant cars below. "No. I'm not okay. But I'm fine - don't worry. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of," she says, sounding fractionally calmer. "Your parents are losing it, babe."

"I know. God." Chris swallows. "How long has it been? I've been orbing...I lost track."

"About five hours," Bianca says. "It's almost midnight. Where are you again? You didn't say."

"I'm on the bridge right now, but I think I'm going to see Mel, in a second," Chris answers honestly. "Is Wyatt okay?"

Bianca is silent for a long moment. "Not really," she finally says. "He told your parents everything. Your mom didn't seem all that surprised, but your dad's kind of angry, I think."

"Yeah." Chris leans back against one of the beams, exhausted all of a sudden. "Tell them I'm okay - that I'm with Mellie."

"Okay."

"Did they tell you what happened?"

"Yeah," Bianca says, a little choked up. She doesn't remember, not like he does. But she already knew enough, when they met - that too-quick visit to Lynn, back in 2003, had done a hell of a lot more than either of them had thought it would. "He couldn't even look at me."

The silence sits again, and Chris closes his eyes, listening to the sound of her breath. They don't need to say anything - they've never really needed to. It's already all there, in the quiet between them.

"I'm still at the Manor," Bianca says finally. "Everyone's pretty upset. But text me when you get home; I'll meet you there."

"Tell them…" Chris trails off, unable to find the words.

As usual, Bianca doesn't need them. "I will," she promises. Chris hangs up feeling, somehow, marginally better.

Melinda is waiting on him, similarly, when he orbs quietly into her dorm room. She has a single - all of them always had single rooms. Leo had been more than happy to shell out the cash for the privilege to keep orbing in on them whenever he wanted.

She drops the book she's been reading the second he solidifies, rising quickly from her bed. "Chris," she says, her face worried and relieved, all at once. Chris moves straight into her outstretched arms, falling into the hug. "Mom called. Are you alright?"

"Not really," Chris says, mumbling it into her shoulder. She squeezes his neck tightly before pulling away, eyeing him with concern. "I'm sorry to barge in. It's late."

"Don't have class tomorrow," Mellie says with a shrug. "Just finals. You wanna talk?"

Chris collapses onto her tiny bed with a groan. "Not particularly, but - "

"You should do it anyway?" Mellie finishes his sentence, wryly. She takes a spot next to him, crossing her legs and pulling a pillow over into her lap to lean on. "You look like crap, bro."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious," Mellie says, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "You're pale - look like you haven't slept in days. Have you eaten?"

"I ate dinner at home."

"Yeah, but you've been orbing around this whole time, right?" Mellie asks shrewdly. Chris shrugs weakly. "Yeah. You need to eat. Here, I think I have some crackers…" she trails off, leaning over to dig around in her little cubby nightstand, coming back up triumphantly with a box of Cheez-Its. "Here."

"I'm really - okay, thanks," Chris says, taking the box and setting it aside. "In a minute, Mel."

Mellie chews anxiously on her bottom lip. "Mom said you and Wyatt fought."

"Sort of. It's complicated. It's...what did Mom tell you exactly?"

"Just that something bad happened to Wyatt," Mellie says anxiously, "that he saw something in a vision that scared him, and then he scared you with it, and you fought. Was it the future?" she asks. "Like that vision Aunt Phoebe had, of the demon that going to try and kidnap Parker's daughter one day?"

"No," Chris assures her. "No. And we killed that demon, remember?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean there won't be others," Mellie says. She frowns at him. "What did he see?"

Chris reaches out and takes her hand, squeezing it between both of his own. P.J. might be Prue Halliwell's namesake, but it's Mellie that holds the closest resemblance: a round, heart-shaped face, thick black hair - much darker than Chris', or their mother's. Deep green eyes - like Chris has - but her chin is all wrong, and she looks nothing like Leo. A wide open heart, that has never once faltered, in her entire life. Chris remembers very clearly, the day she was born: he was only eleven years old, but it still feels like it happened yesterday. That precious weight in his arms, when his father settled him down on the big chair in the living room to hold her for the first time - and those big green eyes, blinking up at him from behind the blankets. Chris doesn't know that he really knew much about love, before that moment. Maybe he felt it, but it was Mellie that taught him what it was.

"He saw something that happened to us in a different timeline," he says, "and it's not really my story to tell. Wyatt can explain it, if he wants to. But it's his choice, not mine."

"Okay," Mellie says slowly, her brow still heavy with concern. "But what about you?"

"I - I've got something else to tell you," Chris says, haltingly. "You have to promise not to tell anyone else, though. Until I say it's okay."

"Of course," Mellie says, without hesitation. "You know you have my word."

Chris smiles at her, with effort. "Bianca's pregnant again," he says.

Mellie gasps, her free hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes fill with tears. "Oh, Chris."

"She's about nine weeks along," Chris says, the words coming easily, not that it's out there. "Nobody knows yet. The risk goes down at fourteen weeks, so we're waiting to see - we don't want anyone to know, until we're sure - "

"Oh, oh Chris," Mellie says, flying forward into his arms again. Chris hugs her tightly, wrapping his arms around her thin shoulders. "Oh, that's wonderful. I'm so - of course you don't want to tell people yet, but thank you for telling me, oh my God - you must be so scared."

"I can't do it again, Mellie," he confesses. This is something he hasn't even been able to bring himself to say to Bianca. "If we lose another one...I don't think either of us will survive it."

"You won't lose her," Mellie whispers fiercely, clutching him so tightly he's sure his arms will have bruises. "She's going to be fine - they're both going to be fine. You're going to have a beautiful family, and everything will be perfect."

Chris feels some unrealized tension disappear, a weight he hadn't even noticed sliding off his shoulders. "How do you know it'll be a girl?" he asks, smiling a little as she pulls away. He reaches out and wipes the tears off one of her cheeks, making her smile too. "Our first two were boys."

"I just know," Mellie whispers. She grips his hand tightly. "I'm so happy for you. You're gonna make it this time - I can feel it."

"Channelling Aunt Pheebs?" Chris asks, daring to hope. "I haven't asked her. I don't wanna know the answer, if it's not the one I want."

"Don't even think about the bad answer," Mellie says, determinedly. "Just think about your daughter, Chris. About how beautiful she'll be, and how strong, and smart, and wonderful. Oh my God! I can't wait to meet her."

Chris leans over and kisses her forehead, their hands still clasped between them. "If she's got even a fraction of her aunt in her," he says, "she'll be all of that, and more."

Mellie smiles, as widely and kindly as Chris has ever seen. "Mellie's a good name."

"So I've heard," Chris says.

* * *

The silence is deliberate now, and sort of productive. Chris hears things through the grapevine - Wyatt had a long talk with Mom and Dad and he seems a little better, Aunt Phoebe took him on a vision quest, Kat and Aunt Paige made him that weird lemon cake he likes for dinner and he seemed totally normal, he even laughed - and he stays away.

It takes approximately twelve hours for Mellie to "accidentally" spill the beans to Henry - but it's not as if Chris hadn't expected that, when he told her. Those two don't have any secrets - and by any, he means any. One of them so much as burps, and the other knows about it within the hour.

"Elephants," Henry says gravely.

"No," Mellie strikes the idea down, unmercifully. "Bad associations. Elephant in the room? Hello?"

"But it's a gender-neutral animal, and it goes with gender-neutral colors," Henry insists.

"You know," Chris chimes in from his end of the dinner table, "you both do remember that this is our baby you're talking about, not either of yours?"

"You can't hog her before she's even born," Mellie complains. "I'm her aunt, for God's sake."

"Well, I'm the first cousin once removed, and stop calling him 'her,'" Henry says. "You can't make the baby a girl just by hoping for it hard enough."

"Well, neither can you!" Mellie exclaims. "This is so crass - arguing about the gender. You're impossible, Henry."

Bianca covers her mouth with her hand, making amused eye contact with Chris over both teenagers' heads. "I might surprise you both," she says, "and pop out a kid that's neither."

"Hence, why elephants are the perfect choice for the nursery," Henry says triumphantly. "It covers all contingencies."

"Yeah, well, ducks are cuter and just as gender neutral so there," Mellie snaps back.

They've always been like this - bickering constantly, over any little thing. The closest in age, chronic middle children, Mellie and Henry were always being corralled off together somewhere - too young to get involved in the demon stuff, but too old to be taken Up There with the younger cousins. As a result, they've developed an intensely combative relationship that instantly turns defensive the second anyone tries to interfere. Chris once saw them stop in the middle of an argument - practically mid-sentence - and turn on poor Kat, who'd walked in the room at the wrong moment, holding the very spell book they'd just been screaming at each other about.

Not that Chris and Bianca play favorites, with his siblings or his cousins, but - if they did, maybe just a little...everyone probably already knows who they'd pick.

"Okay, veto," Bianca interrupts, holding up her hands. Her face is stern, but her eyes are sparkling with humor, her cheeks flushed from the warmth in the room. Chris leans back in his chair, smiling at how Henry and Mellie both freeze in place, eyes wide. Bianca's the only one who can do that. "I am officially stating, for the record, that 'themes' are tacky. The nursery will be decorated with color and pattern only - no baby animals."

"Purple," Henry says instantly, at almost the same exact time that Mellie drops her fork with a clatter and practically screeches "green!" at the top of her lungs.

Bianca cuts them both off with a sharp wave of her hand, a quick silencing spell that only lasts a split second. It gets the point across, though.

"Guys," Chris says, still intensely amused, "we love you and we love that you're happy, but for real, you both need to chill. You weren't like this the last time."

"Yeah, because we were like twelve," Mellie mutters. She shoots a look at him, from beneath the blunt line of her bangs. "Which room are you going to turn into a nursery anyway? The bedroom next to yours is a disaster."

"We're working on it," Bianca protests. "Chris fixed the hole in the wall last night."

"And by 'fix it,' you don't just mean 'put up a forcefield,' do you?"

"No, I used real life drywall, thank you very much," Chris says. "Didn't even use magic."

"Didn't use much magic," Bianca corrects crisply.

"Okay, the paint doesn't count!"

"That's like when Mom tells us she cooked dinner herself when really she used that housewife spell on herself again," Henry comments idly.

Chris narrows his eyes at him. "Henry, you wanna help me with the dishes?" he asks.

"I'm not done eating," Henry protests. Chris snaps his fingers, and the last few bites of food on his fork disappears. Mellie and Bianca both burst out laughing. "Hey!"

"So cast a housewife spell," Chris says. Henry sighs, and rises to his feet.

Later, in the kitchen, he seems somewhat sheepish. "Sorry about earlier," he says. "Mellie always winds me up on purpose like that - "

"You wind each other up," Chris interrupts, lazily stern.

"I don't want you to regret telling us first," Henry says, shamefaced. "We'll be better."

Chris just laughs in his face. "We wouldn't have told you if we didn't already trust you, Henry. Don't worry about it."

"I know, I just - "

"It's fine," Chris cuts him off with a shake of his head. "You just be yourself, in this house. No worries."

Henry ducks his head, a ruddy blush tingeing his cheeks. It's not that he can't be himself at his own house, Chris knows. It's just that it's always hard to live up to, when your parents save lives every day.

"So how are things really?" Chris asks.

"You mean, 'how's Wyatt?'" Henry corrects. Chris rolls his eyes at him. "He's okay, I guess. He's been staying at the Manor with your parents. Aunt Phoebe's been over there quite a bit, too."

"Yeah, P.J. told me." The whole family probably knows the dirty details by now, Chris figures. "Does everybody know...I mean - did Wyatt tell them - "

"That you have memories of an alternate timeline where he was evil? Yeah, he let it slip," Henry says dryly.

"Great." Chris sinks his hands back into the dishwater, shaking his head.

"Why didn't you tell any of us?" Henry asks, turning to lean against the counter, so he can stare Chris down. "Wait - okay, fine, I know why. But why didn't you tell Wyatt?"

"I did tell Wyatt - years ago," Chris says. "That's not what we were fighting about."

"You were fighting about something specific then," Henry deduces, sharp as ever. "Something that happened you didn't tell him about - like a specific, horrible thing."

Chris sighs. "It doesn't matter what it was."

"It matters to Wyatt, clearly," Henry says. He keeps drying the same plate, over and over, his dark eyes fixed on a point just above Chris' shoulder. "Do your parents know?"

Chris sets the last dish onto Henry's towel, stalling as he tries to form a reply. "Yes. They've known my entire life. It's just not something we talk about that often."

Henry looks a bit shell shocked, when Chris finally dares to look at him. "Wow."

"It's not that big a deal," Chris says, feeling oddly defensive. "It's just...a thing. Wyatt always knew, so did my parents - Mellie was too young, but she knows now, and anyway, like I said, it doesn't matter anymore. He's not evil, we fixed it, it's fine."

"I'm not saying anything, I'm just - processing," Henry says, his head tilted to the side. "That's why you and Bianca got married so fast - and why Uncle Leo always took you with him to the Underworld, and no one else - oh, this explains so much."

Chris yanks the towel away out of Henry's grip, drying his own hands as he brushes past to the window, where he can just barely see Bianca and Mellie in the dim light, talking quietly on the porch outside. Bianca's head turns slightly, as if sensing his gaze, but she doesn't turn all the way around to look. "It's a long story, and not one that I really wanna talk about right now, Henry."

"I'm not asking you to talk about it - would you quit being so defensive?" Henry joins him at the counter, shoulder to shoulder. "I'm just saying. It makes sense."

Chris feels the muscles in his shoulders relax, just the tiniest bit. "Thanks," he says. "Sorry."

"For what?"

Chris shrugs, unable to say it. All he can think about - all he's been able to think about, for the past week - is that moment when Wyatt hit the wall. The sound his body made, caught between solid wood and the invisible might of Chris' magic.

"You have to know how everyone looks up to you," Henry says quietly. Chris jerks his head over in surprise, but Henry's looking away, down at the counter, his hands fiddling with one of the weird cooking gadgets that his mother is always sending them. Egg timers and corn on the cob holders and vegetable peelers - they've got drawers full of them. "I mean, we look up to you and Wyatt - you guys were the first, after all. Everybody's big brothers. But with Wyatt, it's more like he's our friend. Whereas you…you're something else."

Chris isn't exactly sure of what Henry's trying to say, but he's fairly certain it's complimentary. "Thanks?"

"I'm serious. You've always been a step ahead, my whole life," Henry says, shaking his head. "When P.J. opened her gym, you were the one she asked for help with the loan...and Kat always comes to you first for advice, about boys or school or spells or whatever. And like, obviously Mellie and I think you're alright - " Chris snorts. "But Parker thinks you walk on water, and hell, everyone knows you're Wyatt's hero," Henry finishes. "It's just not a surprise, is all I'm saying. We always knew you knew more than you let on."

"I am smarter than all of you," Chris says mildly. "Handsomer, too."

"Yeah, yeah." Henry nudges his arm. "You should talk to him."

"I will. When he's ready."

"And that's his decision?" Henry shakes his head. "He'll never make the first move. Not with something like this."

The truth sits comfortably between them. Sometimes Chris can't believe this kid is only eighteen years old.

"Henry," Chris says, squeezing his shoulder. "You're kind of a know-it-all. Did you know?"

"I hear it runs in the family," Henry says.

* * *

It's actually kind of funny, that the Manor could ever be considered neutral ground for anything. Chris has never felt entirely comfortable there - for obvious reasons, perhaps. The house he and Bianca bought - with its leaky roof, creaky floorboards, and even the unobtrusive ghost in the basement they can't exorcise, no matter how many times they try - feels much more like home than Halliwell Manor ever did. He's always felt a little guilty about that, although he's not sure what he could've done to change how he felt about it. Growing up in a house you remember dying in doesn't really make you into a particularly...homey person.

Wyatt, by contrast, loves it there. Chris already knows that he'll be the one living there one day, once Mom and Dad retire to that beachside shack they're always talking about. Wyatt's all over that house, inside and out - he picked out half the furniture, during the various remodels they did after a particularly destructive demon attack. He's the one in charge of the garden, too - it's fuller and more diverse than it's ever been in the Manor's long, witchy history, Chris is willing to bet. Most of the books on the shelves in the living room are his, and he keeps enough clothes to last him weeks in the various bedrooms. Even the attic has been claimed - his big speakers are up there now, with a wooden desk and a few too-comfy couches, for late-night spellcrafting sessions. Chris always feels like he's stepping into Wyatt's bedroom, whenever he has to go up there.

He knows it surprises everybody, the way that Wyatt's settled into himself as a Whitelighter. A lot of things Wyatt does surprises their aunts and cousins - that he gave up on grad school, that he works out all the time, that he's deathly afraid of commitment. For all of his mother's angst and worry about how Chris was treated growing up, being compared to that other version of himself, Chris never really saw or felt that from his family - it was Wyatt that suffered more, he's sure. It's like they all had this picture perfect image of who he'd be - the first son, born under an aurora, at the stroke of midnight on Imbolc, King Arthur blah blah blah - whatever they thought that would all mean. Chris has watched Wyatt try, his entire life, to live up to something that nobody can fully define - and now, in his 30s, having given up on the idea altogether, he seems both happier and more adrift than he's ever been before.

All through college, Chris could see him getting twitchier. His neat, storybook girlfriends - the collegiate witches, who Aunt Phoebe adored, and the dreamy nymphs and elves that Aunt Paige preferred - came and went, each one popping up and disappearing quicker and quicker. He flipped through hobbies like they were books he read - kickboxing, weightlifting, soccer, knitting, gourmet cooking, surfing - but his dedication to his craft never wavered. He settled, from the impulsive, adrenaline-chasing demon hunting that he and Chris both indulged in when they were teenagers - to a more measured, calm approach that had much more of Leo's pacifism than the Halliwell ferocity. Accepting his responsibility as a Whitelighter seemed like the natural, obvious conclusion to Chris, when it happened - even though the rest of their family was shocked.

On the flipside, Chris doesn't really feel like he's truly surprised his family about anything. Which was extremely comforting, of course, when he was growing up - those dark thoughts that would pop up, from a memory long lost - nightmares, bad impulses, all his worst habits, were indulged by his parents and aunts without any question whatsoever. Without any discussion, even. Chris never felt ashamed of it, never felt like he had to lie about who he was - but he was never made to feel like he had to talk about it, either. The only time he's ever managed to even startle his mother in particular was when he and Bianca eloped, and that was only because she'd expected them to at least date for awhile, first.

Nobody even said anything, really. If his cousins had opinions on it, they'd been warned severely by the aunts not to voice them, because from the day Chris first brought her home, Bianca was an unquestionable part of their lives, folded into their family without so much as a blink. He knows they were young - he was only twenty-two, when they met (met again - reunited, technically) and far too young to have children, probably, but - they hadn't wanted to wait, anxious that they'd lose each other again, or wake up from this beautiful dream, somehow. But losing their first two - not even a year apart - was a devastating blow for the family as much as it was for Chris and Bianca. And Wyatt took it harder than any of them.

That's the real reason that Chris isn't telling them right away, if he's being honest. It was never about anyone else but Wyatt - Wyatt who cried into Bianca's blankets at the hospital during the first miscarriage, Wyatt who slept on their couch for weeks after the second, cooking them food and taking care of the bills and making sure they both showered and ate something every few days. Wyatt, who kept them alive, when they thought they might drown beneath the weight of their own grief. Wyatt, who loves them so much it seems to hurt him, sometimes.

When he was seventeen, Wyatt went on a vision quest with Aunt Phoebe and then didn't speak to Chris for three days. Chris was almost frantic by the time Wyatt finally broke - refusing to tell Chris anything about what he saw, of course. And a few weeks later, he finally spilled: a glimpse of the past, a Chris who exists only in memories, now. Chris had never seen Wyatt as shaken up about anything, before.

"You were just so...sad," he'd said to Chris, sitting cross-legged in the garden, surrounded by curling ivy. "I only saw flashes...bits and pieces, you know. But you looked so sad, and so tired."

"I think I was," Chris said to him. "All I remember from that part of it is just like, being exhausted all the time, and really pissed off at Mom and Aunt Phoebe."

"Not Aunt Paige?"

"She wasn't as mean to me."

Wyatt flinched. "It just makes me so mad that you had to remember that part of it. If you were gonna inherit all these memories, it should be only the good stuff. Like a reward, for what you sacrificed."

"Yeah, but Wyatt," Chris had said, far too assured of his own fifteen-year-old wisdom, "it wasn't a reward. It was just an accident - me dying at the same time I was being born...just a freak accident, that's all. If it had gone down like I'd been planning all along, I wouldn't remember any of it. I'd just be a normal person, and Mom and the aunts would be the only ones who even knew about that other timeline at all."

Wyatt just shook his head. "That's not how it should work," he said. "That's not how any of this should work."

"I don't think it's up to us."

"Well, it's our lives, isn't it?" Wyatt said, firm-jawed and distant. "It should be."

* * *

"Don't say a word," Piper says. "I don't wanna hear it, not a single thing. You just come here." She gathers him down into her arms, squeezing his neck so tightly Chris has to hold his breath. "I was so worried."

"I'm sor - "

"Not a word!" she practically shrieks, releasing him abruptly. "I get it, I know. Dad knows too. I'm just glad you're here now." She fusses him into a chair, wiping tears away with the heel of her hand. "I'll make coffee. Wyatt's upstairs - he knows you were coming today."

"Is he…" Chris trails off, watching her bustle around the kitchen. Her hair is loose, falling down her back in greying waves of brown. She doesn't look any more tired than she usually does, but Chris still worries about her - especially since Dad is still gone so much, even now. It can't be easy, now that they're all grown up, out of the house. "You know."

"Better," Piper pronounces. She flips the coffeemaker on, snapping the lid shut with a flick of her wrist. "It's good you're here, though. He really wants to talk to you."

"He could've called," Chris grumbles. Piper shoots him a dry look, and doesn't even grace him with a response. "Fine, fine. Thanks for blabbing to everybody, by the way. How many decades have we kept this quiet from the cousins now, and one little fight and - "

"That was Wyatt," Piper says crisply, rising her chin. "And you should've told them years ago, and you know it."

"I didn't want to scare them."

"No, you didn't want them to know," Piper corrects calmly. Her expression softens. "They're grown up now, honey. It's part of their history, too."

Chris doesn't know how he feels about his past being referred to as "family history," but he supposes that's what it is. Just part of the Halliwell legend - a pretty dramatic part, probably. It'll make a good story for the great-grandkids, at least. "This feels like the intro to a lecture."

"I don't lecture." Piper's eyes flash. "Do you want me to lecture?"

"No," Chris says quickly.

"If I were lecturing, I'd definitely be touching on that annoying emotional unavailability of yours, but it's not like that sets you apart from any other man of the world," Piper says tartly. "Bianca must have the patience of a saint, that's all I can say."

"Thanks, Mom," Chris says dryly.

"You should stop by and see your aunts soon too," she comments, deceptively casual. "They've been worried sick, too."

"You told the aunts too?"

"Phoebe had a vision about you, thank you very much," Piper says. "And don't take that tone with me."

Chris sighs, burying his face in his hands. "Sorry," he mumbles. Piper huffs loudly, and resumes her bustling. A few moments later, a hot cup of coffee appears by his elbow, steam rising gently from its surface.

"It's the flavored kind you like," Piper says, joining him at the kitchen table. Her face is gentler now, when Chris looks. "I put sugar in it already."

"Thanks."

Piper smiles at him, and waits for him to take a sip before she speaks again. "It was your secret to tell before. But now it's Wyatt's, too. You can't hold it against him that he wanted to reach out, just because you didn't. You're different people - you've always taken the opposite side of him, any time you could."

"Not on purpose," Chris says defensively, knowing it's a lie as soon as he says it.

Piper seems to hear it too, shaking her head. "I"m just saying, sweetheart."

"I'm not mad at him for telling them," Chris says. He's mad because he's not the one Wyatt came to, and that's the truth he doesn't want to admit. To his mom, anyway - it would just make her even more upset. "But it's not about being 'emotionally available,'" he drawls, air quotes and all. "It's bigger than that and you know it."

Piper frowns, looking somewhat stricken. "Have they treated you differently, said anything?"

"No," Chris says. He sighs. She's not ever going to understand - not really. "No, Mom. Forget it."

"Don't do that! Talk to me." She slaps his arm lightly, scowling. "I hate it when you do that, it reminds me of your grandfather."

"God forbid," Chris grumbles. He pushes his coffee away. "Some things just don't belong to everyone. That's all - it's not something I want to be passed around the family like a ghost story. That's why I don't like talking about it. I thought you and Dad and Wyatt understood that."

Her face softens. "They won't treat it like that, Chris," she says gravely. "They all understand what you did."

"Really?" Chris is skeptical. "If you say so."

"Well, I'll make sure they understand it, then," Piper says, her face growing stony. "And if Pheebs so much as hints about this in one of her columns I swear to God I'm gonna - "

Chris winces, laying his hand on her arm. "Easy, Monster Mom."

"Sorry." Piper shakes off the anger, like water from her hair. "She's been getting on my nerves lately - Parker told her she got into NYU."

"Ah." Chris hides a smirk in his coffee cup. "Maybe I'll wait a few more weeks before I go see them, then."

"Probably wise," Piper says, patting his arm.

Chris drains his coffee quickly - it only ever tastes this good when his mother makes it. He and Bianca have tried for years to duplicate his mom's recipes - dozens of different ones, using every trick they could come up with - but it's still never the same. Bianca swears it must be a latent power of Piper's - one of the subconscious ones, that some witches never even realize they have. "Thanks for the coffee, Mom. Is he ready now?"

Piper tilts her head, listening for a moment. What she hears that he doesn't, Chris has no idea. "Yeah," she says, after a long beat. "Just go easy - we had another long talk last night. He might still be a little, you know...emotionally hungover."

"When isn't Wyatt emotionally hungover?" Chris teases gently. Piper slaps his arm again.

"Get up there," she says, standing as he does, and leaning in close to kiss his cheek. "Lead with your heart, baby, and you'll both be fine."

"I always do," Chris says honestly. She smiles at him in approval - that, for one, never gets old.

* * *

Wyatt usually stays in the attic, when he sleeps over. But today, Chris finds him in his old bedroom - still with the old posters on the walls, the same bedspread and curtains. Chris' old room is the same - they'll probably have to wait until Piper really is too old to care before they dare to change anything.

"Chris." Wyatt whirls around at his entrance, having been bent over the vinyl player, in its place of honor beneath the window. "Oh. Hi."

"Hi." Chris shuts the door behind him cleanly, leaning his shoulders back against the wall. Records are spread out all over the bed, a bright blue one spinning hypnotically on the turntable. The music playing isn't something Chris recognizes - some kind of pop record, a wordless beat overlaid with synth. "Oh - I forgot. Record store day?"

"Yeah," Wyatt says, a bit sheepishly. He hastily turns the music down, so low they can barely hear it. "I went out this morning - here, I'll clear you a spot." He scoops up a pile of clothes from the chair, extending his arm towards Chris in invitation. "Got some good stuff. Here, you might like this one." He snags one of the records from the bed, holding it out. "Curtis Mayfield - remastered."

"Cool." Chris turns it over to look at the back. It's still in its shrink wrap, brand new and pristine. He's never been as passionate about it as Wyatt, but he has a small collection. Most of them are from Bianca's mother - old Elvis and Beatles and Fleetwood Mac albums, musty smelling and scratched from years of heavy use. "Put this one on then, why don't you? Turn that Lady Gaga crap off, you can listen to that on your own time."

"This isn't Lady Gaga," Wyatt says, sounding mildly offended. He sinks down on the edge of the bed, and flips the turntable off, though. "It's just some pop band. Not very popular."

"Oh, I wouldn't know them, huh?"

"Probably never heard of them," Wyatt says, sliding the record back into its sleeve, conspicuously keeping it turned away, so Chris can't see the front. Chris shakes his head at him, smirking. "You gotta be a little more open-minded, Chris, otherwise you're not ever gonna find anything new to listen to."

"Why do I need new stuff when the old stuff works just as well?" Chris asks, rhetorically. Wyatt just shakes his head, carefully pulling the Curtis Mayfield record out of its wrapping, setting it up on the turntable. He's quiet, as Wyatt slowly turns it on - handling the equipment with clear, thoughtful care. Like how he handles everything. "New speakers?"

"Yeah. On sale." Wyatt turns the volume up, just a little. The music sneaks out and settles between them, a quiet soundtrack beneath their feet. "So."

"So." Chris folds his hands across his knees, watching Wyatt fidget nervously, a few feet away. He looks closer to thirteen than he does to thirty, at the current moment. "How are you?" he blurts, for lack of anything better.

Wyatt grimaces. "Fine, Dad."

"Don't be an asshole," Chris snaps, rolling his eyes. He glares at Wyatt's fidgeting hands until they fall still, stiffening into fists at his sides. "You wouldn't even take my phone calls, you dick. It's been, what, three months since we've really talked?"

Wyatt blows out an angry breath, arranging his face into calmness. "You know why, though."

"Are you seriously angry at me because I didn't tell you all the dirty details?" Chris asks. His own anger feels muted, watered down and tired. "I mean, process however you need to, fine, but you don't get to be pissed off at me that I didn't want to traumatize you any more than I already had - "

"No, I'm not angry," Wyatt says tensely, standing up abruptly and moving to the window. "I mean - I'm angry. I've always been angry about this. But I'm not angry at you, I'm just...angry."

Chris lets that sit for a second, focusing on the spinning record instead of his brother. Still, the music is playing: I am blind, and I cannot see. He thinks again about that moment in the dining room: looking down at his own shaking hands, then back up, at the blood on Wyatt's forehead. The dent in the wall, the spilled food all over the floor. He swallows hard.

"Okay," he says, after a long moment. Wyatt turns around, his face shadowed. "Okay. Let me tell you something."

"Something?"

Chris nods, clasping his hands together tightly. He's never said this to anyone, in either lifetime. Never told anybody - not even Bianca. "Sit down, Wyatt."

Wyatt sits.

"I knew I was going to die when I went back," he says, pushing it all out in one quick sentence. Wyatt's face blanches, his skin bleaching white. "I would've been an idiot to think I could survive it. Even if everything had gone exactly right, I still wouldn't have any idea what kind of future I'd be returning to. And if I had - how would I have even fit into it? It was a suicide mission from the start."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" Wyatt asks faintly.

"Shut up," Chris snaps. "Just let me get through this."

Wyatt nods, folding his hands together and pressing the knuckles to his mouth.

"When Bianca died, I was grateful," he says, feeling sick to say it. "Because it meant she was free, the same way I was. That was what I felt more guilty about, more than anything else - that I was safe, sleeping in a warm bed, food on my plate, surrounded by people I loved…" he shakes his head. "Anyway. I wasn't ever worried that it would be the end, for us. I was cheating the system, Wyatt. Fixing things. I knew I would find her again, even if we didn't remember each other. That doesn't mean it didn't hurt - " Wyatt flinches violently, and Chris holds out a palm, outstretched between them. "But everything hurt, in that future. There was nothing good about it - not a single godforsaken thing. Bianca was the only scrap of goodness that I had. I'm glad she doesn't remember it like I do - she had it so much worse than I did, in so many ways."

"Worse," Wyatt says hoarsely, "because of me."

"Oh fuck off," Chris snaps. Wyatt jerks back in surprise. "This isn't about you. What are you upset about, really? That in another universe, you weren't on the right side? Get over it."

"What the fuck, Chris," Wyatt sputters. "This is why I don't talk to you about this shit, by the way - your bedside manner really sucks."

"So sue me," Chris replies, still tense with apprehension. He's never sure if he's using the right tactic, with Wyatt, sometimes - he's never really gotten the hang of this type of thing. There's a reason that the Elders never offered him the Whitelighter gig, after all. "You're upset because, what, you had a vision, felt a little tiny fraction of what that world was like? It's a nightmare, Wyatt - that's it. Go to therapy, talk it out, whatever. But what's it add up to, at the end of the day? A forty-second movie in your head compared to - what? How many years of living a good life? How many people who look up to you, believe in you? Come the fuck on."

Wyatt swallows, rubbing one big hand over his face. His shoulders are trembling visibly.

"I've been telling you," Chris says thinly, "for years - since we were kids - that you're nothing like him. I don't know how else to say it, to explain it to you. There is literally nothing about you that reminds me of him."

"Until the other night, you mean, when I did it on purpose - "

"Well yeah, and that fucking sucked," Chris snaps. "And here you are, talking about my bedside manner. Jesus."

Wyatt's held breath comes out in an incredulous laugh. He shakes his head at the ground, still keeping one palm pressed to his forehead, like he might turn it around into tears at any moment.

"My weird trauma is not your fault," Chris says bluntly. "It's my problem, my business. I share it with you because you're my brother, and I love you, and that's it. You deal with your side of it, but don't you dare take responsibility for mine. That man doesn't exist anymore - that's all he is. Just a nightmare in your head, Wyatt."

"But he did exist, and he's the reason that you - " Wyatt chokes on the words. "Not that there's anything wrong with you. But look me in the eye and tell me you had an easy life, and that it wasn't his fault - "

"Nobody has an easy life," Chris says quietly. "Not in our family. You don't get to make more of this than it is, Wyatt - it's my head, my past. My memories. When I tell you something, you either believe me, or you don't. And I'm telling you to get over it - because I have."

Wyatt visibly deflates, slumping over onto his knees. Chris feels his heart in his throat, watching him. Sometimes he thinks that's where Wyatt's heart is all the time - perpetually on the brink of explosion. Always anxious about what might come next.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"Don't be fucking sorry," Chris snaps, "that's not what I'm saying, just - "

"Get over it?" Wyatt laughs incredulously. "You're a real piece of work, Chris. I swear to God."

Chris shrugs sheepishly, just to make Wyatt laugh again. He doesn't disappoint.

"You can't blame me for being disturbed by it," Wyatt says. "I felt it, in that vision, Chris. I felt how much he hated you. How it warped his love for you into something...something sick."

"Yeah, but I'm the one who lived it," Chris says, fumbling for a way to articulate that searing betrayal of hearing someone else say it out loud. That terrible breach of…privacy that he felt, being reminded of a memory that he thought would be his and his alone forever. "I don't owe you the full story. There are some things I'm probably never gonna tell you about, and you don't get to be offended by that. No, I know what you're gonna say," he holds up one hand, stopping Wyatt's reply before he even voices it. "But seeing it in a vision doesn't mean it belongs to you, Wyatt. And just because he looks like you, doesn't mean that he is you. DNA - that's all you share. DNA, and a birth date. That's it."

"You really believe that, don't you," Wyatt says, with dawning comprehension. "You can really just - separate it like that? Just - 'oh, that was a different person completely' and that's the end of it?"

"Because he was," Chris points out. "His life was completely and totally different, from beginning to end. There was nothing about it that was the same as here. That was the point. That's what I went back to change - and I did it." Chris laughs with frustration, gritting his teeth. "Although if I'd known I'd have to spend the next thirty years of my life arguing about it, I might not have been as upfront with the sisters about my reasons."

"Sometimes," Wyatt marvels, still shaking his head in disbelief, "I really don't know how you did it. If it were me, I'd be barely functional. I wouldn't even be able to get out of bed."

Chris rises to his feet, crossing the short room to sit next to Wyatt on the bed, shoving a few records out of the way carelessly. Wyatt leans into him almost immediately, shoulder to shoulder, his head still dipping downward towards the floor. "You'd do it. You do what you have to do, Wyatt. That's what makes you a good Whitelighter. You just...do it differently. That's all."

Wyatt releases a loud, shaky breath, leaning in even more heavily against Chris' shoulder.

"Wyatt," Chris says, pitching his voice low so that Wyatt will listen. "I love you, and I'm not afraid of you. Neither is Bianca."

Wyatt makes a noise not unlike a sob.

"Also, you're an idiot." Chris pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his brother's forehead. "I'm sorry I threw you into the wall."

"I deserved it," Wyatt says.

"A little, but I'm still sorry." Chris keeps his hand on Wyatt's shoulder, but pulls back enough to see his ruddy, precious face. "See? We could've done that a month ago. On the phone, even."

"You are such a miserable asshole," Wyatt says, sounding resigned to it. "I mean, honestly, Chris."

"And you're a big fat drama queen."

"Hurtful," Wyatt says mildly.

Chris shrugs, unapologetic. "Truth hurts, bro."

"Tell me about it," Wyatt says.

* * *

Life, as it always does, rolls onward. P.J. and Tez break up the following Monday, which distracts everybody from Chris and Wyatt's weird alternate-timeline angst thing (they're both secretly sort of grateful). Then a few weeks after that, Parker runs off (well - beams off) to New York for a campus visit without telling anyone, which turns into an involved, multi-level situation involving three separate yelling matches, a fender bender (Uncle Coop's fault), and an extremely traumatized neighbor's dog. Thank the Goddess for the Phoebe Halliwell side of the family - being distractingly dramatic, as always.

Jenna, the charge in question, turns out to be sort of nice, despite everything. Wyatt brings her over for dinner one night, and she and Bianca bond over having demon heritage - turns out she's half Darklighter, which might explain the creepy turn her psychic power took.

"You guys are just so accepting," Jenna says, shaking her head. "Your cousin - the one who's dating the demon? And wow, your aunt married a Cupid too - "

"Well, she's not dating the demon anymore," Wyatt says stiffly. He's never liked Tez too much - that stick up his ass gets in the way, Chris thinks wryly.

"Well, maybe don't mention that around Phoebe," Bianca says wryly, smiling at Chris from across the table. "She's a little sensitive about the demon thing, and also - the Halliwells have a somewhat different definition of good and evil than the rest of us - "

"Yeah, but a Cupid?" Jenna asks incredulously. "I mean - Phoenixes, demons, whatever - but Cupids are like…demigods."

"Wait, what," Wyatt says.

"Definitely don't mention this around Phoebe," Chris chimes in. Jenna nods, laying one palm against her heart.

"Can we just go back to - Uncle Coop's a demigod?" Wyatt says incredulously.

"Wyatt, come on," Bianca says, her voice thick from held-back laughter. "How are you thirty-one years old and you still haven't come across the lore for this yet - "

"I wasn't gonna go researching crap about my own uncle! Oh my God, does that mean P.J. and Parker are half-goddess - "

"Calm down," Chris says. "That word doesn't mean what you think it does."

"You calm down, Mr. Half-Elder," Wyatt snipes back. "You're one to talk."

Jenna sets her wineglass down on the table with a loud 'thunk'. "You're half-Elder?!" she squeaks. Bianca muffles a snort into her napkin.

"So glad you could join us tonight, Jenna," Chris says, grinning. Wyatt glares at him. "We really don't have company over enough."

As far as the rest of his family goes - the news that Chris has some extra memories they never knew about barely even seems to register. Mellie seems a little upset about the concept, but since she and Henry are practically vibrating with the baby secret, she seems a little distracted.

Oddly, this seems to alleviate some of Bianca's anxiety, which is a pleasant surprise. She even starts to show signs of excitement, which in turn makes Chris start to hope a little too - they talk tentatively - at night, in bed, as if it's a secret even in their own house - about the nursery, the car, clothes, diaper budgets. Chris spots a baby name book on her desk one morning, though she doesn't say anything to him. And he catches himself daydreaming sometimes - which feels risky, but somehow thrilling, too. Car seats, baby shoes, preschool shopping. The possibilities seem endless.

At twelve weeks, Bianca goes in for her regular monthly appointment, which is only mildly heart wrenching, at this point. Each month, it gets a little easier - and they would both know instantly, if something were wrong. They both know what wrong feels like - and this time, it's not there. He can sense the baby's magic already - a little knot of pulsing light, beating in time to that precious heartbeat. Sometimes, he lays his hand over the top of it and just listens - he could listen to it forever.

"My mother called," Bianca tells him as they sit in the waiting room, flipping through the same magazine, spread open on his knee. "This morning - I didn't pick up."

"What the hell does she want?"

"Who knows. She's definitely sensed it by now." Phoenixes share a common well of magic, the same power granted to their ancestors in the 16th century, when the daughters of the witches killed in Salem first appealed to the Underworld for revenge. The unfortunate result of this is that Bianca's mother can sense whenever Bianca is injured, or emotional, or pretty much anything else, which has caused many, many awkward encounters before they figured out how to block her from shimmering into their house unannounced. "I know you think I'm overreacting about the insurance thing, but if I give her even an inch, she'll have moved into our basement before we know it - "

"Hey," Chris says, holding up his hands, "you don't have to lecture me on your weird, intrusive mother, okay. All I'm gonna say is, would you have reacted the same way if it'd been my mom that did it?"

"No," Bianca says sulkily. "But your mom is amazing, and mine used to read my diary and break up with my boyfriends for me. Without telling me."

"She knew you were destined to be with me," Chris says sweetly. Bianca smacks him on the arm. "She's been trying really hard lately, Bee."

"I know," Bianca says with a sigh. "But today, it's messing with our car insurance - and no, I don't care if she made it cheaper - and then tomorrow, it's something weirder, and then next week it's something creepy weird, and there's no way I'm gonna subject our daughter to that guilty helicopter shit, Chris. She's gonna have privacy, damn it."

Chris grins at her. "Daughter?"

"Well." Bianca instantly turns shy. "Mellie seems so sure."

Chris leans in and kisses her, unable to help himself. Bianca smiles into it, lacing their fingers together over the magazine.

"Well," he says, after she pulls away, "you might as well tell her now, because I sort of...invited Wyatt to meet us after this."

Bianca raises an eyebrow. "Here? At the doctor's?"

"Well, for lunch afterwards. And I told him where we were gonna be," Chris admits, with a small grin. "I just said it was a 'check up,' and he didn't seem to think much of it, but if he looked up the doctor's name…"

Bianca bursts into laughter. "You are an asshole," she says. "Oh my God, seriously? He's gonna kill you."

"I thought you said it should always be a personal decision about when and how to share your life with family?" Chris teases.

"I'm just picturing the look on his face," Bianca says, shaking his head. "When he walks in this room and sees all these pregnant people - "

Chris cocks his head, the edges of his magical senses tingling. "Won't have to wait long. He just orbed in outside."

Bianca whirls around, looking at the door. "Where?!"

"Calm down, crazy, he's outside - " Chris cuts his own sentence off when Wyatt appears, in the window of the small office, his face red and his clothes askew. Spotting Chris through the thick glass, he knocks once on the window and then starts gesturing angrily, clearly ranting out loud, though they can't hear him through the window. Flailing his arms around, he draws more than a few stares. "Oh my fucking God."

"You better go out there before he has an aneurysm," Bianca says, not even bothering to hide her laughter.

"What about the appointment? We're up next - "

"Oh, what are you gonna do, stand there and hold my hand while they take my temperature? I'll make them wait until you get there to do the ultrasound," Bianca says. "If you're still in one piece, that is."

Chris stands with a sigh. Wyatt knocks again, pointing at him ominously, and then starts pacing up and down the hallway aggressively. "I deserve this, don't I?"

"Every single second," Bianca says, nudging him towards the door with one foot. "Love you."

"Don't say that like you think you're never gonna see me again!"

"I said it normally!"

"You really didn't," Chris says. Pausing, one eye still on Wyatt, he grins at her. "Okay but if he really does kill me - love you too. Name the kid after me."

"Christina Halliwell," Bianca teases, tilting her head. "Catchy."

Chris just huffs, pausing at the door to brace himself. "My life is ridiculous," he mutters to himself. Then he opens the door, and steps through.

Wyatt tackles him, not even a foot into the hallway. He can hear the entire waiting room laughing at them through the open door, with Bianca's voice rising above them all, which is just the cherry on top of the cake.

"You asshole!" Wyatt shouts, pinning him to the carpet with his big, beefy cartoon arms. "You dick, you rat, you scum sucking sewer demon - "

"Mortals!" Chris hisses, trying to shove him off. It doesn't work. "Mortal world, mortal world - "

"This is how you tell me?! I hate you. I fucking hate you," Wyatt says, shoving him to the ground roughly. Leaving him there to cough his lungs up, Wyatt leaps to his feet and pushes through the doorway, heading straight for Bianca, who is still laughing her ass off with no remorse whatsoever. "I can't believe you would be so mean to Uncle Wyatt - come here, Mama! Holy shit, I can't believe it!"

Bianca yelps as Wyatt swings her up into his arms, swinging her around in a circle. If they weren't a spectacle before, they definitely are now. "Wyatt! Oh my God, put me down you Neanderthal - "

Chris scrambles to his feet and dodges back into the room, waiting until Wyatt releases Bianca to punch him, hard, in the shoulder. "Sit down, you lunatic," he says, "this is a doctor's office, for fuck's sake - "

"Bianca Halliwell?" A nurse pops her head into the room, her eyebrows shooting to the top of her head at the sight of them standing there, clearly flushed and in the middle of their public display of affection. "Mr. and Mrs. Halliwell? We're ready for you."

"Oh, they're ready for Mr. and Mrs. Halliwell," Wyatt says, grinning so hard Chris is surprised his jaw doesn't dislodge. "Is that you? Mrs. Halliwell?"

Bianca slaps the magazine against Wyatt's chest. "Yes," she says primly, and strides past them towards the nurse, who is just starting at them, extremely unamused.

Chris huffs, avoiding the looks from the rest of the waiting room, and adjusts his jacket. "You," he says sternly, pushing Wyatt's shoulder, "stay here. We'll be out in a few and then you can throw us around all you want."

"I don't get to come?!"

"No, you don't get to come, you idiot," Chris hisses, "you get to sit here and wait and act like you're not an over-inflated beach ball that's been given human sentience."

"Ouch," Wyatt says, still grinning madly. "That one hurts, brah. Right here, in my heart."

"You - "

"Chris," Bianca says sharply, her arms folded. She jerks her head at him, and Chris rolls his eyes.

"Your cue, Mr. Halliwell." Wyatt flops down into a chair, opening up Bianca's magazine, and makes a show of reading it. Chris huffs and strides past him, joining Bianca and the nurse at the door.

"Did I deserve that?" Chris mutters archly, as they follow the nurse down the hallway.

Bianca grins. "One hundred percent."

Chris sighs. Probably, she's right.


End file.
